


trying times

by wordscorrupt



Series: Be Still My Heart [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Superfamily, Surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 01:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordscorrupt/pseuds/wordscorrupt
Summary: Peter needs surgery to remove his tonsils.That is if Tony ever lets go of him.





	trying times

It only took two months into the school year for Tony to come to the conclusion that preschool was hell. 

Steve had convinced him to allow Peter to attend, explaining how it was going to be good for the toddler to have some kind of social interaction with kids his own age and not with the self-destructive robots down in his lab. Screw them because Dum-E and U, unlike those little demon spawns at the school, weren’t germ-ridden and it turns out that their son doubled as a tiny magnet for all different sorts of viruses and germs. 

The first cold came only three days after Peter started. Steve had to stop Tony from pulling Peter completely out of school the moment they got the call from the school nurse. Steve had to deploy Pepper the second time around, just three weeks after the first incident. 

This time around, Steve was sure Tony would keep Peter inside a plastic bubble for the rest of his life. 

The day starts off like any other. 

Tony is woken up by a soft kiss from Steve, which he kindly returns by smacking a pillow into his husband’s face. After threatening to turn the hose on him if he wasn’t up by the time he came back, Steve leaves to wake Peter up. 

Tony dozes off, startling awake a few moments later when he hears Steve’s gruff voice. “Tony.”

Tony’s eyes shoot open. “I’m up!” He cries, stumbling out of bed, the blankets landing in a pool around his feet. 

“Tony,” Steve calls out once more, voice weary. 

Tony cranes his neck to look back at Steve, whose standing solemn in the doorway with a drowsy toddler in his arms. 

Steve sighs, smoothing the back of Peter’s hair. “He’s sick.” Peter demonstrates this with a small cough, followed by a sniffle before rubbing his tiny button nose against the crook of his Papa’s neck. 

Tony immediately marches over to them and after gently pulling Peter away from Steve, just enough to get a glimpse of the small, red flushed face, he presses a calloused hand to his son’s forehead. 

He might as well have touched a hot stove. 

“Aw, buddy,” Tony coos, replacing his hand with a chaste kiss to Peter’s burning forehead. Small bleary eyes peer up at him as he draws back. 

“He told me his throat hurts,” Steve tells him, gently rocking Peter in his arms as the toddler stuffs his face against his shoulder once more.

Tony sighs, running his fingers through his hair before holding his arms out. “Come to daddy, bubba.” 

He carefully plucks Peter from Steve’s arms when the man holds him out, crooning, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

“There’s gotta be some medicine left from last time,” Steve murmurs as he walks down the hallway, towards the kitchen, Tony following suit. 

Tony takes a seat on the island setting Peter down on his lap, watching as Steve rummages through their tiny stash of children’s medicine. He gently combs his finger through the toddler’s curls as Peter rests his cheek against his chest. “Tell daddy what hurts.” 

“T’oat,” Peter whimpers, voice so soft that Tony could barely hear. 

“Anywhere else? Tummy? Ears?” Peter shakes his head slowly, letting out another whimper that quickly delves into a hoarse cough, burning his already tender throat. 

“‘addy,” Peter cries softly as he recovers from the cough, large tears flowing down his bright red cheeks.

“I know, baby,” Tony says softly, rubbing gentle circles on the little boy’s back while pressing a few kisses to the top of his head. 

“Any luck there, babe?” Tony asks, turning to Steve. 

Steve sighs, shaking his head as he pushes the medicine away. “Just some allergy and asthma medicine. We must have gone through all the cold medicine from last time.”

Tony huffs, sliding out from his chair, repositioning Peter on his hip. “We got some popsicles?”

Peter’s head perks up slightly at the mention of the cold treat and Tony smiled. 

Steve jumps from where he was leaning against the counter and goes to rummage through the freezer, letting out a triumphant cry as he pulls out a popsicle from behind a couple frozen vegetables. He unwraps it before handing it over to Peter with a kiss to his cheek. 

“Perfect.” Tony grins, watching as Peter takes a hesitant lick of the popsicle. Not a moment later, the toddler lets out an exhausted sigh as the icy treat manages to temporarily soothe his sore throat. 

“Let’s go look for Uncle Bruce, bubba.” 

They find the scientist huddled in a corner of his lab, peering through a microscope. 

“He’s sick,” Tony states, plopping down onto a chair and rolling towards Bruce with Peter still snuggled in his arms. “Fix him.” 

“Please,” Steve adds, leaning against one of the tables. 

Bruce stutters, pushing his glasses up on his nose, “You guys, I’m not a pediatrician. Heck, I’m not even a doctor!”

Tony shrugs his shoulders, plucking the empty popsicle stick from Peter’s sticky fingers before the toddler manages to take either one of their eyes out with it. He aims the stick towards a trash can, throws it and watches as it bounces off the rim before landing on the floor. He sighs before turning back to Bruce, watching from the corner of his eye as Steve walks over to the trash can. “You’re the next best thing. It’s Sunday and the pediatrician’s office is closed.”

“Try one of the medbay doctors.”

“No can do,” Tony supplies.

“Why?”

“Because none of them is this kid’s favorite uncle.” Tony watches as Bruce’s facial expression softens and Tony’s glad he hasn’t found himself above using dirty tactics. Because, let’s be honest, the kid’s favorite uncle was the archer that sneaked him candy when neither one of his dads was watching. 

Bruce is silent for a few moments before sighing, shaking his head. “Fine.” He gets up, heading to the far side of the lab. 

Steve walks over to where they are sitting, biting his lip. “It might be better for me to hold him. He can get…”

“Fiesty?” Tony offers. 

They both look down at the toddler curled up on his lap, quietly sucking on one of his thumbs. Tiny curls were plastered to his forehead from the sweat of his fever. 

“I think we’ll be okay, hun,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head.

Bruce returns back with a medical bag and begins the check-up. It was going relatively well, with the occasional whine that was simmered with a kiss or two, until all hell broke loose when Bruce had to swab the back of Peter’s throat to test for Strep. 

Steve had to refrain from pressing his palms against his ears as Peter _screeched_. 

“Baby, it’s okay. Uncle Bruce is all done. Bubba, it’s okay.” Tony tries to quell Peter’s tantrum as the toddler lets out ear-splitting cries, squirming and kicking around in his lap. Steve runs to Tony’s aid as Bruce scurries away looking incredibly apologetic. 

“I know that wasn’t fun, baby, but it’s all over now,” Steve coos, grabbing hold of Peter’s thrashing legs. 

Tony takes the chance to wrap his arms around Peter’s chest, effectively locking down the toddler’s own small arms before whispering soothing words into Peter’s ears as Steve softly strokes Peter’s legs.

By the time Bruce returns with the results of the test, Peter’s regressed down to hiccups and sniffles. Tony feels the toddler stiffen up in his arms once Bruce appears and he sends a frantic look up towards his husband.

But instead of another tantrum, Peter points a tiny accusing finger at the scientist, “‘Meanie.”

Tony huffs out a laugh as Steve tries to hide his grin, grabbing a gentle hold of Peter’s finger and pulling it down. He half-heartedly chastises the boy, “That’s not nice, bubba. He’s just trying to get you feeling better.”

Peter’s lips form into a pout and he nuzzles in closer to Tony’s side. “Unca Buce huwted me.”

Bruce looks absolutely devastated at the accusation and Tony knows the feeling. He once accidentally closed the door on Peter’s fingers and the betrayed, wounded look his son gave him afterward nearly shattered his soul. 

Steve had a fun time trying to console two sobbing boys that night. 

“It’s okay, Bruce, he’ll forget all of this by tomorrow, I promise,” Steve reassures the man before he could begin a long apology speech.

Bruce nods his head before taking a seat, sliding his glasses off and fiddling around with them. “Good thing is it’s not strep.”

Tony and Steve breathe a sigh of relief. Tony reaches up with the hand not tangled in Peter’s curls and grabs a hold of one of Steve’s, squeezing it gently. 

Bruce continues, “But I’d make an appointment to see his pediatrician. If I’m not mistaken, this is the third time he’s gotten a sore throat in less than two months.”

Tony gives a hesitant nod before asking, “Where are you going with this?”

Bruce sighs, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “The pediatrician might have a different opinion, but I think it would do Peter good to have his tonsils removed.”

Tony sits up in the chair and instantly tightens his hold around Peter as if a surgeon was going to appear out of thin air and steal his son away from him.

“You mean like surgery?” Steve questions, setting a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder, sensing his husband’s panic. 

Bruce nods his head, “It’s a routine procedure, but like I said his doctor might think otherwise. It’s just a thought!”

“But he’s tiny,” Tony murmurs, glancing down at the now sleeping toddler in his arms. 

“What?” Bruce asks, leaning forward. 

Tony swallows, pressing his nose into his son’s curls. “He’s just a baby.”

“They do surgeries on babies too, Tony,” Bruce comments softly. 

Tony growls, glaring at Bruce, “But this is my baby.” He then turns to look up at Steve. “Our baby.”

Steve sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. “Tony, sweetheart, calm down. This is all just a thought at the moment. We’ll make an appointment with the pediatrician and go from there.”


End file.
